Two can keep a secret (if one of them is dead)
by ibuzoo
Summary: Entering the underworld has always a price. Hermione wonders what price she has to pay.


**Two can keep a secret (if one of them is dead)**

**Prompt: **Witness

**Rating:** T

**Warnings: **Modern AU, College AU, Mythology References

**Word count: **1027

**A/N:** This one comes a bit late because I was out of town the weekend. It's a particular short one again and I used the word witness loosely, more like a synonym of observer. Also on a personal note autumn has started here and temperatures are fucking low with lots of lots of rain - it's muddy and wet and cold and I feel tired all the time. All the people claiming that autumn is the best season are insane.

* * *

><p><strong>o.<strong>

Entering the underworld always has a price.

Some say all you need are six pomegranate seeds carefully held between the hollows of your teeth, in the corners of your mind where they rest and linger.

Some say all you need are rusty red coins of silver which weight heavy like a burden under your tongue while the taste of blood burns acidly in your mouth.

Hermione wonders what price she has to pay.

* * *

><p><strong>i.<strong>

Hermione never noticed how quiet and private the Starbucks in the middle of London is during working hours, just a few customers discussing general vanities, some depressing song by Lorde runs in the background but it's far too faint to understand the lyrics. She drinks her pumpkin spice latte, savours the taste on her tongue while she listens to Tom's voice and how he recites Keats, Byron and Shelley to her.

There's a nagging voice inside her head that tells her that she's monitored and she turns to inspect it but she can't spot anything while the voice keeps insisting and bickering, reminds her of the lie that she told her friends this morning, reminds her that this is wrong, that Tom is wrong but she doesn't listen, blocks it out until Tom's voice draws her back in, ensnares her.

She forgets about her friends and drinks.

_(but Ron's ginger thatch looms at the end of the street, observes her from afar and his rage is visible in the way he clenches his fists, clenches his teeth)_

* * *

><p><strong>ii.<strong>

Odysseus had to sacrifice blood so the shades would speak to him.

Knowledge always comes in exchange for blood, Hermione knows that but she wonders how much of it will be necessary to know when to stop.

She doubts she'll ever find out.

* * *

><p><strong>iii.<strong>

She never had a high regard for a fancy label or the people who wear them as some kind of status symbol. Of course she possesses some labeled pieces herself - a pair of trousers, an elegant white chiffon blouse her mother bought her for the internship last year; all of them little signs that they are on velvet - but neither Chanel nor Dior is a particular allure for her.

That is of course until Tom puts her in a red Valentino dress, finest Parisian couture, with embroidering on the hem, fluent satin on top of her warm skin. He spins her around and his arm lingers tender on her lower back, fingertips teasing her skin through the fabric while something red flames up in the corner of her mind, something rusty, something auburn.

When she turns around no one else is in the shop besides the baristas and she blinks, feels the fluttery feeling of Tom's lips kissing her cheek as she turns back to him again, ignores everything else.

_(but Ginny watches from the other side, coffee to go in one hand and her mobile in the other, takes a photo and leaves the street with a grim face)_

* * *

><p><strong>iv.<strong>

Hermione draws many lines in her life to differentiate, carefully, consciously because sometimes they don't come instinctively but rather stay hidden.

_(there are no lines in the underworld, no differences)_

There are lines between life and death, lines between trust and betrayal, lines between truth and lie, lines between want and need.

_(she's never been good at differences) _

She asks herself where she draws the line with Tom.

She doubts she does.

* * *

><p><strong>v.<strong>

"He didn't start the fight", she says, her voice is stoic, calm and headmaster Dippet nods convinced while she repeats her words once more, adds, "Cedric threw the first punch. Theodore just wanted to protect himself headmaster."

He believes her, drinks her lies like water and turns around sharply, convicts the boy with the broken nose while Nott stays calm beside his parents, breathes out relieved. Dippet dismisses her a second later and when she leaves his office Tom already waits in front of the door, a twinkle of curiosity in his grey eyes.

There's the nagging feeling of burning eyes that scratch at her nape but she doesn't care, steps closer to Tom and waits until his fingers run through her wild brown locks.

_(but Neville can't rip his eyes away, watches the scene with growing horror and hides behind one of the pillars even long after they have gone)_

* * *

><p><strong>vi.<strong>

Each lie falls from her lips with ease and they weigh like a coin under her tongue, stipulate like a seed between her teeth.

She wonders if that's the price she has to pay.

_(in her mind Charon laughs, throat open to the night sky and his smirk glimmers in the dark, taunting, cruel, mocking)_

* * *

><p><strong>vii.<strong>

"We're heading to the cinema tonight - want to come?", Harry's voice is urging, pressing with an underlying tone of hope as if he didn't had given up on her, as if he'd still trust her judgements. But Hermione knows better because she hears the accusation in his words, observes the way his shoulders are tense and strained, almost as if he's preparing himself for the fatal blow, the last evidence, the smoking gun that tells him to let her go. The ticking of the clock is unusually loud in the room, reverberates from the walls like a countdown to something they both know is already long overdue and she turns her red lipstick between her fingers, plays with the clasp.

"I think I'll stay in, thanks."

They both know it's a lie and she can see the way Harry's shoulders drop with the last bit of confidence he had left to cling to but Hermione doesn't care, turns around and puts the cherry red balm on her lips.

* * *

><p><strong>viii.<strong>

Entering the underworld always has a price.

_(some say you need pomegranate seeds, some say you need rusty red coins of silver)_

Once, the story might have gone differently but for Hermione it's all the same while she sacrifices friend after friend, mindless, rampant, hungry and she feels the seeds between her teeth, tastes the copper of coins under her tongue.

She belongs to him and that's all that matters.


End file.
